


Sanctuary

by Ancalime1



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Incredible Hulk (Comics)
Genre: Autistic Bruce Banner, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Outer Space, bruce loves space fite me, but barely, it's implied that bruce is autistic in this so, mentions of abuse, space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 21:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17536484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ancalime1/pseuds/Ancalime1
Summary: Gift work for a friend: Bruce finds a safe place.





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [corvuss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvuss/gifts).



> Wrote for my friend @mutantbanner on tumblr, who drew [this LOVELY picture](https://mutantbanner.tumblr.com/post/179467312506/art-trade-for-autistic-thor-this-was-so-fun) for me. Love you lots dear <333

The most vivid dreams Bruce had ever dreamed had always been nightmares.

It was a nice colorful assortment of nightmares, too. Always kept him on his toes. He had stopped counting the times in which he’d bolted upright in bed, chest heaving, because of some uncontrollable hulk-out, or the sensation of his father’s damning gaze on him while he witnessed a recollection of some painful childhood memories.

This time was different, however—but he wasn’t quite sure why.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d dreamed of anything. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a restful sleep, either, so he supposed the two factors might be related in some way or another (to say nothing of the nightmares, of course). He decided not to dwell too much on it—best to let the scene play out rather than overthink himself back into consciousness again. 

He was drifting in some darkened hallway of his imagination. A wooden door had materialized at the end of the hallway, just a few paces away from him. His skin prickled with dread—he’d opened one too many unpleasant doors in his dreams, doors that led him to the wreckage of cities he had destroyed as the Hulk, or doors that had showed him his mother’s corpse on the kitchen floor, tears and blood pooling beneath her cheek. As with all dreams, though, he didn’t have a choice. He never had a choice. He found himself slowly gravitating towards the door as if pulled by some unseen force, the magnet of his morbid curiosity, every fiber of his being protesting along the way. He never had a choice.

His hand closed around the handle, and he pushed the door open.

It was dark, but a soft glimmer of light in his peripheral told him he had never been here before, wherever here was. The room was tubular in shape, like a tunnel, and was covered from wall to wall in odd knobs and switches and screens. He was still drifting, and as he drifted past them, they began to whir with life. Strange.

A dome-like structure stretched out in front of him, dark and indented with great gaping shapes. It struck him just then, that this place was in fact familiar, but not in the way he might have expected. Very suddenly he became aware of his position—that he was hovering, floating inside some sort of control room, inches above the floor despite his best efforts. He looked behind him, expecting to see the wooden door with which he had used to enter. But there was no such door to be seen. A circular hatch now occupied the space behind him, illuminated by the soft glow of the room’s controls.

His heart began to race with excitement. He knew where he was—how could he not? This place had been the object of his dizziest daydreams for the past fifteen years, the quiet mental sanctuary to which his consciousness turned when his mind was overcome with stimulation. And if his memory served him, he need only open the window shutters to confirm that this was indeed the place.

Hastily he moved to hit each knob, his breath hitching with exhilaration. A small sense of apprehension prickled in his fingertips, as if opening the shutters might reveal something dreadful instead, another nightmarish scenario for him to watch in his place of remote helplessness. But he ignored the feeling. That wasn’t going to happen—not tonight, not while he was still in control. This was his dream, his sanctuary, his safe place, and not even his worst memories could trespass onto it.

He pushed the final knob, and sucked in a deep breath as the shutters began to open.

A gasp escaped his lips, and his thrummed inside his ribcage. He had been right. Outside the geometric windows and far below him stretched a vast, vibrant blue, as if he stood on a cliff overlooking the sea. Only this sea was dappled with clouds, little snow tufts that trickled down and across the water. And there was no horizon to be seen—just the soft blue glow where atmosphere met endless space. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing Bruce had ever seen.

He pulled himself closer and pressed his hands to the glass, a smile softening his tired face. It felt so delightfully real that he had nearly forgotten this was a dream, a recreation of the cupola within his unconscious thought. But in that moment, it didn’t matter if this was real or not—the lightness in his heart felt realer and more pure than any nightmare he had ever had, and he wanted to savor it forever.

Perhaps this was his unconscious telling him, finally, that he was ready to let go. That he was finally ready to forgive himself.

Tears began to well in his eyes, trickling down from his cheeks and forming into little droplets that floated before his face. He laughed at the sight, a sense of giddy, childlike glee bubbling up in his chest. He was safe. God, he was finally safe. Here, miles above the earth, he was in his sanctuary of the stars. And he would cherish that for as long as he could.

That had been one of the best nights he had ever had.


End file.
